


Happy Hickeyween

by Partymeowth



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Begging, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Halloween, Hickeys, M/M, Semi Public Sex, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 16:50:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16479275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Partymeowth/pseuds/Partymeowth
Summary: Their choices in costumes varies from year to year, but one thing remains consistent—their private challenge to be the last to leave. Seems easy enough, though Hanzo’s general dislike of parties leaves him at a clear disadvantage. But there’s a catch. They spend the entire party teasing each other mercilessly. The first to cave and request to go home loses.





	Happy Hickeyween

**Author's Note:**

> i rushed a little to finish this by halloween so sorry if its a little sloppy. happy halloween!!!

Halloween is a spectacular time of year, full of spooky surprises and delicious candy. Even on the Overwatch base, which consists of fully-grown adults who should be well beyond the maturity level of celebrating a children's’ holiday, it’s met with excitement. This is mostly due to the annual party hosted by Winston, which almost everyone attends, including a certain recently married duo.

Over the years, McCree and Hanzo have become notorious for their tendency to bail from a party early. It’s easy to guess why. Hanzo is repelled by all things that involve social interaction, and McCree is pretty much glued to his lover’s hip. But _this_  party is an exception.  
  
Their choices in costumes varies from year to year, but one thing remains consistent—their private challenge to be the last to leave. Seems easy enough, though Hanzo’s general dislike of parties leaves him at a clear disadvantage. But there’s a catch. They spend the entire party teasing each other mercilessly. The first to cave and request to go home loses.

The previous year, Hanzo had chosen to go as Little Red Riding Hood, though McCree still suspects it was only for the opportunity to make as many ‘riding’ jokes as humanely possible. (And he certainly hadn’t let the opportunity go to waste.)

This year, because McCree has decided to go as a monster hunter, Hanzo has been insistent on going as some sort of monster. After toying around with various options, McCree doesn’t know why Hanzo ultimately chooses to go as a vampire, given he’s expressed a vague disinterest in them. But then, his husband’s always liked challenges.

McCree is sitting on the edge of the bed, toying with the fancy accessories he’s attached to his artificial arm. The bits that are illuminated a vivid orange are glowing in the slight dim of their shared bedroom, and the sharpened edges of his digits look satisfyingly dangerous. He makes a claw with his hand, admiring how convincingly sinister it is.

“Almost done in there, darlin’?” he calls to the closed bathroom door when he grows bored of waiting. Hanzo’s been in there for quite some time, even for him.  
  
As if on cue, the door smacks open, the bathroom light pooling over the bed and revealing a dark hunched figure. Hanzo slinks over, elbow bent in front of him so that he can utilize his absurdly large cape as a curtain that reveals only his eyes and the top of his head. It seems he’s taking his role very seriously, and it’s so endearing that McCree can’t help but laugh affectionately.

The vampire drops into McCree’s lap, prompting him to whistle low and quiet. “Not everyday a gorgeous monster just falls right into my lap. Luck must be on my side today.” He traces a teasing metal talon along Hanzo’s chin, who receptively tilts his head forward, eyes sliding contentedly shut. _Like_ _a_ _damn_ _cat_.

“Who is to say this is not exactly where I want you?” When Hanzo smirks, a fake fang peeks from his upper lip, and a sudden wave of warmth sweeps through McCree’s stomach.

“Oh? Y’think you’re quick enough to suck my neck before I can get a bullet through your unbeatin’ heart?” McCree challenges huskily, prodding the abated point of his steel finger just above his husband’s Adams apple. It would certainly make more sense for him to retrieve his gun, which he has holstered to his hip, but despite his choice to use his real weapon as a prop, he’s not foolish enough to actually point it at someone.   
  
“I would love to suck something else of yours,” Hanzo purrs, a mischievous glint in his eye.

McCree barely restrains his laughter. So that’s his angle, huh? “Sorry, doll. I don’t let sharp things get too close to my belt region.”  
  
“A pity,” Hanzo purrs, arms twining around him and effectively pinning him in place. “I am quite the expert. I am not entirely made of sharp edges, after all.”

“S’that so?” McCree leans forward, until their lips are a scant few inches apart. He gazes into Hanzo’s hooded eyes, intoxicated by the promise that lingers there. He’s struck with the urge to skip the party altogether, to tackle his husband onto the bed, or perhaps to lay back and let Hanzo have his way with him. But that would be too easy. “Maybe y’can show me later. If’n I don’t decide to strike ya down first.”

“That would be the last mistake you’d ever make,” Hanzo states grimly. And with that, he removes himself from his lap, the corner of his obnoxious cape flicking against McCree’s face as he turns away. “Come. We have a party to get to.”

—

Only twenty minutes into the gathering, they’ve already snuck off into the closet, one of their favored make-out spots during parties like this. It’s pitch black inside, and they have to carefully maneuver around invisible boxes and shoes that litter the floor, and sometimes one of their shoulders will knock into a jacket-clad hanger. But overall, it’s a secure spot where no one will come looking for them, and that makes it ideal in McCree’s book.

The moment the door clicks shut behind them, Hanzo presses against him, crowding him into the wall. Hot breath ghosts over his skin. McCree’s breath hitches, then releases in a squeak as sharp teeth faintly graze over the column of his neck.

He fights to keep quiet as Hanzo begins to work a hickey onto his throat. He’s notoriously terrible at it, though, so he’s not surprised when Hanzo takes it upon himself to silence him. A warm and calloused hand covers McCree’s mouth, and the slight pressure only makes him moan that much more.

He can feel the way Hanzo resists somewhat, doing more sucking than biting. Like a real vampire. It’s obvious he’s just being mindful of hurting him, given the tapered fangs he’s wearing. Still, it’s dizzying, the amount of care he puts into each nip of his teeth, like McCree is a fragile thing that might break if he presses down too hard.

“I have a new challenge this year. A bit of a self-appointed one, if you will,” Hanzo hums, each word vibrating pleasantly against McCree’s skin and sending wonderful shivers down his spine.

“O-oh?” he manages, muffled against Hanzo’s palm, and the archer releases his loose grip to allow McCree the opportunity to speak.

“I want to see how many marks I can make before the end of the night.” A slightly harsher bite punctuates his sentence, sending a spark of heat directly to McCree’s midsection. “This will be the first of many. My goal is to reach at least six.”

“Why six?” McCree can’t help but ask.

“Devil’s number,” Hanzo simply says around the patch of skin he’s latched onto.

“Goin’ full edgelord on me, Shimada?” he teases, and Hanzo huffs a sigh as he reluctantly withdraws in order to respond.

“I am dressed like a teenager’s wet dream. Far be it from me to act the part.” He pointedly grazes the tips of his fangs over McCree’s scruffy jawline, making him shudder in spite of himself.

An amused noise leaves McCree as he reaches a hand out, blindly stroking the side of his lover’s face until he’s cupping his cheek. He brushes a thumb over Hanzo’s bottom lip, humming appreciatively when a soft tongue comes into contact with the digit. “Well, you’re certainly much prettier than most vampires. You’d even put that sparkly motherfucker to shame.”

“Edward Cullen?” Hanzo suggests far too innocently, and McCree’s hand retreats as he gives a shake of his head that surely goes unseen.

“Really don’t like that ya know that.”

“Not all classics are good, but it pays to be well-informed.” Hanzo’s shifting closer again, his breath tickling against McCree’s beard.

“Yeah, ‘cause ya never know when someone’s goin’ to pull a gun on you and demand that you recite Shakespeare.” Something pinches his earlobe hard. “ _Ow_!”

“Do not _ever_ compare Shakespeare to Stephanie Meyers,” Hanzo hisses just beside McCree’s ear, releasing the admonishing grip of his teeth.

“ _You’re_ the one who called her work a classic!” he protests incredulously.

“Yes. A bad classic, which is completely unparalleled to a good one.”

“Oh, for the love of… You’re a real class-A nerd, y’know that?” McCree chuckles good-naturedly. “You’re real deceivin’ with all them beefy muscles. Could’ve fooled me into thinkin’ you’re a jock ‘til ya opened that whip-smart mouth o’yours. If we met in our ‘teens, guarantee I woulda tried shovin’ your ass in a locker.”

Hanzo merely hums in that tone that he gets when McCree becomes too talkative. The mildly disinterested one that betrays the slightest hint of endearment. Then he returns to his task, his tongue flicking out to lave over the bruise that’s surely blossoming over McCree’s throat. Something tells him this is going to be a long night.

  
—

True to his word, any time they find themselves alone, Hanzo shoves him against the nearest available surface, gnawing at McCree’s throat with an urgent fervor that makes him light-headed.   
  
McCree’s certain people are taking notice of the growing number of red marks littering his neck, but no one seems keen on asking. After the year where the two of them had implemented a remote control vibrator into their filthy competition, he can hardly blame them.   
  
Genji, the bravely stupid soul that he is, does make a comment about how McCree “looks like he’s been mauled.” Hanzo simply responds in short Japanese, and the face Genji pulls tells him he won’t be making any more remarks about it.   
  
By the time a fourth hickey is being worked into McCree’s neck, his patience is wearing pathetically thin. They’re on the empty deck, huddled against the steel wall of the base. It’s secluded enough that Hanzo feels comfortable kneading at the tent in McCree’s pants. He gasps, rutting into his lover’s touch, watching his breath escape him in white wisps of air.   
  
“Hardly much of a hunter,” Hanzo purrs, grinding the heel of his palm against McCree’s straining hard-on. “More of a _slut_ , if you ask me.”  
  
McCree’s knees buckle with a moan, going pliant beneath his husband’s hungry touches. He no longer has the presence of mind to care about some silly bet. His carnal needs are far more dire. “Let’s go home, baby. Right now. Please.”  
  
“Hm…” The vampire makes like he’s thinking, his movements slowing to a pace that’s downright excruciating. “No.”  
  
“ _No?!_ ” McCree echoes incredulously.  
  
“No. I plan on winning both bets tonight.” As Hanzo speaks, his hand stills, then retreats altogether, leaving McCree to buck pathetically against open air. “I need to make two more marks to win my personal bet.”

_Always_ _so_ _stubborn_ , _this_ _one…!_   “Then just do ‘em real quick, right now.”  
  
Hanzo pouts. “That would be no fun.”  
  
“I can make it plenty fun,” he insists.  
  
“Can you not endure just one more hour?” Hanzo’s fingers dance up the front of McCree’s jacket, halting at the collar to give it a little tug. “I will make it worth your while.”  
  
For Hanzo to _want_ to stay at a party is unheard of. McCree doesn’t have it in him to say no.

“...Fine,” he relents.   
  
Hanzo plants an appreciative kiss on the tip of his nose, but when he pulls back, the smirk on his face is devious. “Just to be clear, you still lost.”  
  
McCree sighs and drags a hand over his face, accepting that he’d just been played. “Yeah, yeah. Rub it in more, why don’tcha?”  
  
“Love you,” Hanzo says so sweetly, almost gratefully even, as though McCree is doing him a huge favor.   
  
McCree can’t hide the affectionate smile that graces his face, but he manages to twist it into something teasing as he replies, “Love you too, ya fuckin’ minx.”  
  
Hanzo’s tongue pokes out of his mouth in a childish gesture. It’s cuter than it has any right to be. McCree watches him retreat, a wistful sigh escaping him when he disappears around the bend. This party can’t end quick enough. 

—

The fifth mark is by far the most difficult of them all. They’re crammed into a small bathroom, the edge of the sink digging into McCree’s lower back as Hanzo takes his sweet time. The soft lips that skate over McCree’s skin are almost mocking in nature, and he trembles in anticipation, a hand braced on the rim of the basin.

“C’mon, sweetness, get to the good stuff already,” McCree urges, and though he speaks in a light tone, there’s a tremor there that indicates he’s reaching a point of desperation.

It’s evident that Hanzo’s composure is wearing down too. Each noise that leaves McCree’s throat has Hanzo reciprocating with a rumble of his own, and it isn’t long before he’s grinding desperately against McCree’s leg.   
  
“Baby,” McCree pants. “Baby, we should— _hah!”_ Teeth finally dig into the sensitive spot beneath his jawline, prompting his hips to buck forward. “We should go, we gotta—“  
  
“No,” Hanzo growls against his skin, voice deliciously ragged. “I must win.”  
  
“You’ve won already, angel, _please_ ,” McCree whines, feeling like he might die if he doesn’t get any friction soon. “Just gimme the last one so we can go. C’mon. Give it to me, honey. _Please_.” He knows how much Hanzo likes to hear him beg, but even if that wasn’t the case, it comes so naturally to him when his lover has him pinned like this, when he’s going out of his mind with want.  
  
Hanzo caves, a wrecked noise leaving his throat as he inflicts one last mark upon McCree’s skin. He buries his sloped nose in the crook of his shoulder, sinking his teeth into the meat just above his collarbone, over and over again until McCree is trembling so hard that he thinks he might shake apart.   
  
“Please, sugar, _please_ ,” he croaks out, achingly hard. A hand slips into the front of his pants, snaking past his belt buckle and cupping his painfully hard cock. “ _Fuck_!” His hips jerk forward involuntarily, and Hanzo’s own stutter against McCree’s thigh, betraying how affected he is.

He doesn’t even feel Hanzo unlatching his belt until his pants are already sliding down his thighs, an impatient hand shoving his underwear down just enough to expose his generous cock. In a flash, Hanzo is sinking to the tile on his knees, greedy hands grabbing at McCree’s dick. He doesn’t dare move even an inch, watching his husband with baited breath, marveling at how someone can look so angelic even while kneeling on a dirty bathroom floor.

“Hey, now, be care— _fuck_ ,” McCree’s warning dissipates into an unabashed moan as Hanzo’s mouth sinks over his length, engulfing him in wet heat. Truly, the vampire is more talented than he lets on, as McCree doesn’t even feel a hint of teeth. Just a warm, sinful mouth, expertly moving up and down his cock, pausing only to suck at the base or twirl a tongue around the head. It feels _heavenly_ , and McCree swears he hears the sink start to groan beneath the tight clasp of his steel hand, so he adjusts himself accordingly, gently tangling his hands into Hanzo’s inky strands of hair.

Hanzo gazes up at him, and Christ if that isn’t a damn sight, those beautiful lips stretched around his huge cock, those sharp cheeks dusted a rosy pink, those umber eyes hooded and sparkling with promise. And then it hits him.

“Hold on a tick… You did all of this just to get my cock in your mouth, didn’t you?” McCree holds Hanzo’s head still, boring down into those gorgeous eyes, which are glittering in a dangerous combination of mirth and heady triumph. It’s all the answer he needs, eliciting a dark chuckle as he adds, “And you called _me_ a slut?”

That question prompts Hanzo to pull off of him, a wry smile on his face as he substitutes his mouth with his hand. “I thought it went without saying that I am the bigger slut in our relationship,” he says smugly, slowly stroking McCree’s cock. “But yes, you are correct. That was my goal.”

And then Hanzo dives right back in, sucking McCree off like it’s his fucking job. McCree would have to be a damn fool to complain. He’s never been happier to lose three bets in one day. He leans more heavily against the sink, head lolling back. His own groan reverberates back to him, bouncing off the cramped walls of the bathroom.

“Honey, if ya keep that up, I won’t be able to fuck ya proper,” McCree laments, as though he isn’t encouraging his husband with rough tugs of his hair.

Hanzo pulls away long enough to purr, “Maybe I want you to come right here.” And isn’t that a fucking mental image and a half? Before he can even protest, Hanzo’s hands are on the insides of his thighs, and McCree has been on the receiving end of his husband’s incredible blowjobs enough times to know what that means.

“Kitten, I—“ Whatever McCree was about to say doesn’t matter anymore, because his cock is all the way down Hanzo’s tight throat, and he has to bite down on his own knuckle to keep from shouting loud enough to alert the entire party. Cautiously, he moves his hips in a tiny circle, and Hanzo’s appreciative moan rumbles around him. McCree swears under his breath, tentative movements picking up speed, until he’s straight up fucking his husband’s throat.

“Jesus Christ, babe, oh my God, you’re so _fucking_ good,” he babbles in a taut whisper, each murmur of praise receiving a sweet moan in kind that sends another jolt of electrifying heat to McCree’s midsection. It’s no surprise that he doesn’t last long. He’s so wound up, he can’t possibly stop moving his hips, so he desperately warns, “I’m—Hanzo, I’m gonna come, baby, I’m—“

With a content hum, Hanzo digs his nails into McCree’s thighs. His goatee is a mess of drool and precome, his hair in a sloppy disarray, but it’s the satisfied glint in his eye that pushes McCree over the edge. With a cry of his husband’s name that’s far too loud to not be overheard, McCree thrusts in balls-deep and spills down Hanzo’s throat.

His grunts morph into whimpers as Hanzo continues to swallow around him, and McCree has to pat the man’s head a few times before he gets the memo. Hanzo removes himself with a sound _pop,_ a string of come following his lips. He sweeps it off with his tongue, looking just as wrecked as McCree feels.

“Let’s go home, pumpkin,” McCree murmurs, reaching out to lovingly swipe a metal thumb over his bottom lip, reddened from use. “You deserve a nice, big treat.”


End file.
